What Next
by Mirax84
Summary: Spike's returned from the dead, but he needs to find some purpose in his life, so he turns to his grandsire for help. WIP
1. Chapter 1

_I love you_. The three words that had wrecked his life. Repeatedly. He considered picking up a dictionary to see if the meaning of the phrase had changed while he was gone. Sighing and shaking his head, he pulled out a cigarette and lit up, inhaling deeply. The thick smoke had very little calming effect; less than he had hoped for. 

He knew that she hadn't meant it. He knew that she knew she hadn't meant it. But he had hoped for more of a welcome than he had received. Swearing, he swerved around a piece of debris littering the highway. He'd been dead, dusted, gone. And he had been okay with that. Dying for the woman you love, saving the world, that whole bit. Granted, he didn't expect shining lights and the standard-issue wings and harp, but he did figure someone upstairs owed him something for the world-saving. 

What he got instead...he still wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not. Not coming back as a human...well, he had never particularly missed being William, the little poofy poet...so no big loss there. But bringing him back as a vampire? The Powers apparently came up short when it got down to the creative genes. He could have come back as some really terrifying demon, or they could have given him some really cool powers...but instead he was back to the sunless blood-drinking. And to add insult to injury, when they did bring him back, they just dumped him in Utah. Utah! Sunshine and Mormons. His own personal hell. Not to mention the lack of good liquor. Which he seriously needed by that time. 

Taking another drag on his cigarette, he peered through the freshly blacked-out windows of his semi-new vehicle. Seeing that the sun was down, he rolled down his window so he could enjoy the cool night breeze. 

Somehow he had managed to scrape together some clothing--_bloody wankers brought him back naked--fags, a bit of cash, and a beat up old Camaro. He had slowly made his way to Sunnydale, and found it pretty much the way he'd left it. A sodding crater. He smiled at the memory, though. __What a way to go... _

Taking another drag, he turned onto his exit. _Cleveland__. A world full of slayers, and does she leave the slaying to them? Of course not. Wouldn't be her style. So, when he had found out where his Slayer had gotten to, he stocked up on drinks and smokes and made his way to Cleveland. _

She wasn't too hard to find, being the Slayer and all. The Watcher and the scoobies had made the move with her, and had set up another magic shop. The only one that had been really happy to see him, though, had been the nibblet. And even then... He used what was left of his cigarette to light another. 

The worst part of it all was that he could understand exactly why they acted the way they had towards him-- "Nice to see you, Spike, great job saving the world and all...  Why are you still here?" It was like there was nothing left, chapter closed, end of story. And the Slayer... Angrily he slammed his hand down on the wheel. Sure, when she needs you to save the world, it's all "Oh, Spike, I'm just not ready for you not to be here." And now it's just, "Spike, you're welcome to stay, but there's not really a place for you here anymore, is there?" _Bitch. _

He stomped on the gas but then, remembering where he was headed, he immediately slowed down again. Away from the Slayer was good, but he wasn't sure that where he was headed would be much better. He couldn't have stayed with the Slayer after she had said what she did, though. Despite how close they had become again... He just couldn't take being jerked around like that anymore. Sure, she was still his weakness and they both knew it, but he'd be damned if he'd just stand around and wait for her to destroy him again. 

The scoobies had given him money, clothes and had even offered to help him find and purchase a better car. They had even... Spike sniffed, then rubbed at his eyes, telling himself that it was just a bit of dust. They had even found him another duster, to replace the one he had taken with him when he died. It wasn't half as comfortable as his old one; it was still very new, not worn and broken in from years of use. _Oh, well, give it fifty years or so. He hadn't wanted the scoobies' help, but somehow he couldn't refuse. Partly because he needed all that they could afford to give him, seeing as money would be a bit hard to come by, as he couldn't bring himself to mug people anymore. _Damned soul_. _

Which brought him back to where he was currently headed. He'd never thought, in his entire unlife, that he would be here. He needed a place, a job, a...purpose. He'd never really had one of those before. Sure, he'd had something close to it. Taking care of Dru, seeing the world, wreaking havoc, having a fucking good time. Then things shifted, and his life had revolved around the Slayer. He was still trying to figure out all of that mess... But none of that was a purpose. If there was one thing his soul had been insistent on, it was that. 

He wasn't qualified for much except writing horrifically bad poetry and demon-killing. At a stretch, you could include drinking and making snide comments. Not much purpose in any of that. And to top it all off, he needed a way to make a living. He'd die a third time before resorting to flipping burgers, and the thought of taking orders from anyone made him sick to his stomach, even if he would be doing it for the money. Which brought him back here. Again. _He was almost there. _

Unlike his trip to Cleveland, he had no preconceived ideas about what this reception would be like. But he was ready for anything. And as much as it pained him to acknowledge it, he was desperately hoping that they would take him in. If they didn't... That was not a scenario he was looking forward to. 

He was there. This was it. He pulled into the drive and parked his car, and just sat there for a moment, staring up at the hotel. He looked down at himself to make sure he wasn't dressed too poorly, and sniffed a few times to make sure he didn't smell too offensive. He hadn't stopped much on the drive, leaving him few opportunities to shower. His clothes were a bit on the threadbare side, and he most definitely could have smelled better, but he'd do for now. He swung the door open, tossed his spent cigarette on the ground and ground it out as he climbed out of the car. 

"Spike." 

Spike jumped at the sudden sound of his name, overbalancing and falling all over himself and the still-open car door. Growling, he straightened back up and slammed the door shut, spinning around to face... Angel. The poof had the audacity to smirk at him. 

"Yeah, get your kicks while you can, mate," Spike grumbled. _Wanker. Spike wondered how long the great poof had been waiting. It was pathetic, really. __He's supposed to be helping the hopeless and all that, and instead he's lurking around just to play scare the Spike. _

The smirk wore off and Angel went back to his habitual brood-face. "Buffy called." 

_Bleeding hell_. So Angel already knew why he'd come. Was he going to make Spike beg? Was Spike so desperate that he would beg? He tried not to think of the answer. "And?" 

Angel was a bit thrown by Spike's one word reply. Sure, he'd help Spike, but he wanted to hear Spike ask for it. Spike was supposed to be desperate, plead with him for a place to stay, a job, be in dire need of Angel's help...okay, so maybe he wasn't being very realistic. But damn it, he wanted some begging. Maybe even some groveling thrown in for good measure. "Said you needed a job, place to stay." 

Spike ground his teeth. Angel was going to make him ask for it. _Bastard_. But Spike knew how to play the game. It was the same game that they had played for well over a century. "You going to help me or not?" 

Angel frowned, having already lost the first round of what was sure to be a long and continuing series of mind games. "Grab your stuff, and I'll take you to your room." He walked past Spike, through the front doors of the hotel, never looking back, coat swooshing behind him. 

Spike shook his head. _Always with the big entrances and exits, you big poofter. He turned to get his stuff out of the car, then remembered that all his possessions in the world were squirreled away in the pockets of his duster. Shrugging, he followed Angel inside. _


	2. Chapter 2

What Next - Chapter 2

The place was impressive; he had to give the poof that. Not like he'd ever tell him that though. Angel was already overdoing the whole, "I'm so much better than you are or ever will be" bit, strutting around like he owned the place... _Okay, so maybe he did actually own the place, but still..._

He tried to appear bored and uninterested in his surroundings, but he kept sneaking glances, trying to form an impression of the place that was going to be his new home. Unfortunately for Spike, interest won out and he wasn't paying any attention to where he was going when he smacked full tilt into a very large, very _green_ demon. Who was wearing...gold lamé? _Well, this is interesting..._

Quirking an eyebrow, he affected nonchalance. "Can I help you with something, mate?" he inquired, giving the demon the once-over, then wincing as the clashing colors of the demon's suit wreaked havoc on his eyes. 

"Lorne, this is Spike, Spike, this is Lorne," Angel introduced them, suddenly appearing next to Spike. 

Spike cursed silently as he jumped again. Either he was just extra jumpy today, or Angel was having _way_ too much fun with the whole sneaking around bit. Spike snuck a quick glance in his direction, and if he hadn't known better, he would've sworn that the Great Poof was smirking. 

Lorne tilted his head, giving Spike a sideways glance. "You know, this is almost anticlimactic. I thought he'd be taller, Angelcakes." 

Spike bristled at the slight, and was about to return fire, then..._Angelcakes_? Smirking, he remarked, "I thought this was L.A. -- not San Francisco, Peaches." 

Angel's brow furrowed in confusion at the apparent non sequitur, then his eyes widened comically as he caught Spike's meaning. Lorne, on the other hand, just laughed. 

"Not that kind of demon, honeybuns." Lorne winked at Spike, then sauntered off. 

_Honeybuns_? Spike stared after him for a minute, and then surprised Angel by bursting out into laughter. "Where the hell did you pick that one up, Peaches?" he asked, indicating Lorne with a nod in his direction. 

Angel shrugged. "That's just Lorne. You'll get used to him." 

"You told them all, then?" Spike frowned. He was surprised that the green demon had been expecting him. He hadn't thought that Angel would tell his employees right off that the Big Bad was coming. He'd figured that Peaches would just shuffle him off into some dark corner of the hotel and do his best to pretend that Spike didn't exist.

"Told who what?" 

"Your busy little worker bees, you told them the Big Bad was coming? Got them all hid now, in case I was feeling a bit peckish after the trip?" _Why did you tell them, Angel? What did you tell them? Are they afraid? They should be. I'm a monster… Did you tell them that, Angel? Do they know what I've done? Are they scared? **They should be**._

He told that damned soul of his to shut up again, and wished for the millionth time that the cursed thing had an off-switch. Unfortunately, it was just as anxious as he was about the whole living and working with Angel deal. It threatened him with buckets of guilt if any harm was to come to Angel's employees, and he just wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, to tell it to bugger off, because it sure as hell wasn't getting the hint despite his constant reassurances that he wasn't going to eat anybody. Idly he wondered if the Poof's soul was just as annoying

Angel sighed. So Spike had noticed after all. He always had been the observant one. "Yes, I told them you were coming. No, I didn't think you were going to eat them, I just gave them the night off." Angel's gaze shifted to an invisible speck of lint on the hem of his shirt. "I thought it might be overwhelming, having all of them around your first night here." 

"Oh, right then." Had he just gone insane, or was Angel actually being considerate for once?  And why weren't his little minions off cowering in fear somewhere? _He was the Big Bad, dammit. They were supposed to be scared._ His soul and the demon had a rare moment of agreement. Angel was too trusting, he should have warned them, should have told them what he was capable of. Even with the soul he had killed…

"They should be scared, you know..." His voice was barely a whisper, his mind suddenly flooded with images of those he had killed after his return from Africa. He withdrew into himself, not wanting to see those faces, hear those voices again. He tried to push them all away, but they closed in, suffocating him. Deep down he knew that he had killed them only because he had been the First's bitch at the time, but the fact remained that he had taken those lives all the same… He would always remember.

A sudden chill passed through Angel. The look that had passed through his grandchilde's eyes… It was a mirror to his own pain, and he winced in empathy. As much as he didn't want to become…_attached_ to the blond vampire again, he couldn't help but feel drawn to him, knowing exactly what he was going through. Buffy had told him of Spike's crazed episode in the school basement, and of the sick games that the First had played with his grandchilde. She had told him how Spike magically seemed to recover… But deep down, Angel knew that the blonde's suffering had only just begun. Sparing him a glance, Angel saw that Spike was shaking slightly, trembling. He was filled with a sudden desire to comfort Spike, and he tried his best to repress it, knowing that any show of sympathy or understanding on his part would only be met with suspicion and contempt. 

But looking at the flickering emotions on his grandchilde's face, he couldn't just ignore what the other vamp was going through.

"Spike, they may just be humans, but they deal with demons all the time. They can handle themselves. They'll probably just steer clear of you for a while anyway, given your history, especially Wes and Cordelia, but…" 

Spike flinched as Angel's voice faded into so much background noise. _Thanks for the reminder, _mate. It was like that damned chip all over again. Except this time, instead of blinding sparks of pain in his head, he was now controlled by guilt and shame for what he was, what he had been, and it was tearing through his heart, ripping the useless organ to shreds. He didn't want to be so bloody useless, like before, _crippled_. He knew he could be strong; he had been, for _her_. He had fought and won, saved the day. He had done everything for her; she had been his motivation to become the kind of man..._that she could love_. But it hadn't lasted, it wasn't real. He had ended up needing her far more than she had ever needed him. And now, having broken the last ties between them, there was nothing left. He was left entirely alone to face the consequences of the decision he had made over two years ago._ Alone, with no blonde Slayer to come to his rescue this time. And a grandsire that hates you. He's all you've got. _ 

"Spike?" He had stopped talking when he realized the other vampire was no longer listening, and there had been absolute silence for a full five minutes. Now he was worried. When Spike was this quiet, he was either up to something or there was something seriously wrong with him. _"Spike_. " Still getting nothing from the blond vamp, he reached out to him through the unique bond that they shared. Granted, they hadn't shared blood in ages, weakening the link, but they would always be connected, due to the…_unusual _way Spike had been sired.

 Spike's head immediately snapped up when he felt the intrusion. 

"Stop." His icy blue eyes burned into Angel's. "You've got no right to go poking about in my head. Get out." The soul was bad enough, acting up as it was, but the last thing he needed was a reminder of his unconventional creation. _Please, don't make me remember…_ It was bittersweet, a reminder of days when he had done unspeakable things, but also a reminder of a time when he had been loved, wanted…_accepted_.

_Fuck._ Now he'd pissed Spike off. "Just talk to me, Spike. I feel like we're having two different conversations here. I was just..." _Making sure you were okay?_ He didn't finish out loud, afraid that Spike would laugh at him for sounding like he cared, and terrified that voicing his concern would bring him that much closer to admitting that he actually did care. 

"Just stop, alright? I'm fine. Let's just get on with this, yeah?" He motioned for Angel to get on with the Grand Tour. Sure, he was a bit unsettled that Angel had tried to pull that mind-reading trick of his, but the fact that he had attempted it at least showed he cared... _Not alone?_ He laughed bitterly. Angel didn't care _that_ much. _He helps the hopeless, remember? It's his job, you stupid git._

Angel was still worried about the emotions flickering through those blue eyes, but he knew that it'd be a cold day in hell before Spike would willingly talk about his problems._ Great, just what I need… I don't think there's enough room in this hotel for_ two _brooding vampires..._

Angel led Spike upstairs, to the room that he had prepared a few days before. 

"Well, here we are. It's not much, but I didn't have time to do more than clean it; we've had more than our fair share of cases lately." Angel turned the handle and swung the door open. "That and I figured you'd want to change everything all around anyway, get it the way you like it." He walked on in, and Spike followed, puzzled as to why Peaches would actually care how he wanted his room decorated. 

"Bed's over there.  I sent Cordy out a while ago to go get sheets and stuff, she should be back soon. The mini-fridge is over there, and if you could make a list of furniture and whatever else you'll need, we can take care of that tomorrow." 

Spike looked around in confusion. It wasn't much, but the fact that Angel had done this for him...and had promised him more, it was just too much. Either his grandsire had received a significant head injury lately, or Angel was up to something. All this out of the goodness of his tortured little soul?  _Not bloody likely_. Angel hated him; he had made that painfully clear on numerous occasions. _What did Angel hope to get out of all this? What did he have to gain by helping someone he despised?_

"What's your angle, Angel? What do you get from this, making with the nice? Is this all part of that prophecy, you get to be a real boy if you fill your quota of charity cases?" 

_So Buffy had told him about the Sanshu prophecy... Wonder what Spike thinks about that? Wonder if he wants it for himself… _"Nothing, Spike. I get nothing. The prophecy…it doesn't work that way." 

Spike snorted. "So you're doing this out of the goodness of your unbeating heart? Why do I find that hard to believe? Oh, right, because we hate each other!" 

"What do you want, Spike? You want help, you don't want help? Pick one. If you stay, I treat you like any other employee. I take care of my employees; I don't make them stay in the basement, Spike."  Angel winced as he realized that Spike might perceive his last statement as directed towards Buffy's treatment of the blond. He opened his mouth to amend what he had said, but he was already too late…

"Oh, don't _even_ bring_ her_ into this!" Spike swore and began to pace, his fingers searching out a much-needed cigarette in his duster pocket. Realization dawned upon him. "It's her, innit? Rang you up, told you to play nice for her sake and all that rot? Well don't bother, I don't need your fucking charity, alright? I'll mention you offered, but I'll be damned if I'll stay here." Unable to find a cigarette, he stomped his foot and growled in frustration. 

_Assuming the Slayer even cares enough to check up on me._ With a sinking feeling he realized he would probably never see her again. _But that was good, right? She had destroyed him, permanent distance was the best solution. _Looking up, he saw the other person that had been equally successful at utterly destroying his life, his confidence, and his self-reliance. 

Distance had never worked with Angel, though. No matter how hard he had tried, he always ended up back here. Always. This was his beginning and his end. All roads led back to his grandsire, no matter how hard he tried to change. And here he was, asking the poof for shelter while he got his sorry excuse of an existence sorted out. He couldn't depend on him, he wouldn't depend on him, never again. Not after the last time…not after he had been abandoned without a second thought.

Tears threatened to fall, and he hated himself for that weakness. Damned soul. He was slowly remembering why he had relished being turned. William had been so weak, overly sensitive, a dreamer and a fool…it was disgusting. He had worked so hard to separate himself from that persona, to rebuild himself as someone that could be feared and respected. And now he was falling apart, the soul cutting through him like a wasting disease. Afraid that Angel could see him reverting to his human self, he fled the room and swept down the hallway, intent on leaving, getting as much distance as he could between him and his grandsire, who was as much to blame for this emotional upheaval as the damned soul was. 

He was stupid to think that this ever could have worked, he never should've come, it was a mistake. Angel hated him, he hated Angel; there was too much between them to think that this could've ever worked, there was too much history and a certain blonde Slayer standing in the way. He should have never-- A strong hand grasped his arm, roughly pulling him around to face Angel's angry gaze. 

"Get over it, Spike. You need help, and I'm offering. Don't be an ass." 

"Don't fucking need anything, leave me the hell alone, you fat git!" _Please, just let me go before I lose it all in front of you. I promised myself that I'd never let you see me cry again, don't make me break that promise..._ Spike struggled in vain to free himself from Angel's grip. 

_Why was he even bothering? Sure, so Buffy had made him promise to look after the younger vamp, but if Spike decided he didn't want any help, who was he to argue?_ With a small jolt of realization, Angel knew full well why he wasn't letting Spike go. He wanted to help. And not only that, but he wanted to be needed. _By Spike._ Maybe this was the Power's way of giving him a second chance to correct past wrongs between him and his grandchilde. _Or maybe you just want your grandchilde to need you, _want_ you, like he used to…_ No. That was definitely the demon talking. He just wanted to help.

Angel loosened his grip on Spike slightly, so he was no longer hurting the younger vamp, and he used a tone of voice that he hoped was soothing. "Just stay. At least one night. If this doesn't work out, then we'll figure something else out." 

He felt himself falling. The soft look in those warm brown eyes begged him to stay; they spoke of acceptance and longing... They spoke of all the things that Spike craved. To be needed, wanted, loved…to belong. But he couldn't stay, he just couldn't. Sure, Angel could say what he wanted when it was just them alone in a hallway, but what about when it actually mattered, when his humans came back to work? Spike wouldn't be ignored or set aside. He wouldn't be Angel's dirty little secret. He wanted to be his own man, someone who could stand to look at himself in the mirror, metaphorically speaking. 

Having made his decision, he tried pulling himself free one last time. Unsuccessful again, he kicked Angel in the balls, forcing the older vampire to let go, and Spike ran as fast as he could. 


	3. Chapter 3, Part 1

**What Next - Chapter 3, Part 1**

A/N: In order to set things up in the present, flashbacks seemed the best way to go about it. Hopefully it's not too confusing, and not all chapters are going to be like this, as I myself am not a big fan of long flashbacks. Just so no one goes, "oh dear God, it's one of those flashback fics":P And hooray for Edibbea, who's been kind enough to beta this fic, she's kept me from making a complete idiot out of myself.:) 

* * *

He resorted to what he always did when faced with a problem he couldn't handle. He got shit-faced, and started what could've possibly been the biggest bar fight L.A. had seen in decades. Fuck the soul, it felt so damn good to be fighting again, even if he was bleeding from dozens of cuts and could barely see out of his swollen and blackened right eye anymore. With a primal yell he threw himself back into the middle of the fray, fists flying. 

* * *

_"You thought you could just leave us? You didn't even say goodbye! Fuck the sodding soul, Angelus, you didn't have to leave!" He knew it had been Darla that hated the soul, but he had thought he meant more to Angelus than her… Besides, they didn't need her, as long as they had each other… Why couldn't Angelus see that? _

Angel lay still on the ground, bleeding heavily, willingly taking the beating Spike was dealing out. He secretly hoped that his Childe would go too far, and kill him in the process. The soul was burning him, and if he could've summoned up the courage, he'd have staked himself weeks ago. 

"You left us! Fucking left us, you wanker! Don't you bleeding care anymore? We're your fucking family for Christ's sake!" Delivering one last vicious kick to Angel's side, Spike broke down, sobbing. His legs no longer able to support him, he fell down on his knees, next to his Sire. 

"You said... You said you loved us. **Me**. You said you loved..." He tenderly ran his fingers across Angel's broken and bruised face. 

"No." He could barely speak due to the damage Spike had inflicted, his windpipe all but crushed. He was torn between love for this soulless creature, and the knowledge that it was wrong to feel this way about a bloodthirsty demon. He had to push him away, to keep both of them safe… 

"No..." The word was barely more than a whisper. The small knot of nothingness that had formed deep in the pit of his stomach expanded to a size that threatened to swallow him whole. For the first time in his unlife, he felt truly dead inside. 

Angelus, the man who had finished what Drusilla had started and been unable to finish that night in the alley, the man who had taught him to fight and fuck with passion and flair, the man who had been his lover and friend... And now he was ripping the meaning from all that had happened between them; he was saying that it had never been love. Angelus had often toyed with him before, pretending not to care; he reveled in pain, causing it and receiving it, but Spike had always believed that deep down, Angelus truly loved him back. 

But this souled creature before him… He didn't know much about souls, but he was certain that the man before him, his Sire with a soul, couldn't, wouldn't lie about something like that. 

Three times. Angelus had only said it three times to Spike, and each moment was forever burned into his memory; he had always been desperate to hear the words, a confirmation of his affection. But now, according to the man before him...it all meant nothing. 

"No..." A wail of complete and utter despair threatened to break the surface of his cool exterior, the sapphirine fire in his eyes dulled to imitate lifelessness. It was as if his life had been taken from him. Everything that he had lived for, stolen from him with a single word. And as if someone had been reading his mind, a small sliver of wood was being pressed into his hand. 

"Finish it, Childe," Angel pleaded, weakly coughing up blood. Spike's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. No, Angelus couldn't be asking him to do this, how could he... Suddenly the hollowness and despair gave way to a white hot fury. He leapt to his feet and continued his earlier assault, repeatedly kicking Angel in the side, shattering the remainder of his ribs. When his initial burst of anger had subsided, he bent down to whisper in his Sire's ear. 

"I know what you've become, what's happened to you... And I don't fucking care. You're my Sire, and that's what bloody counts." He gave one last, strategically placed kick that landed on Angel's head, rendering him unconscious. Bending down a second time, he gave his Sire one last, brutal kiss, coming away from it with blood on his lips. Sire's blood. He slowly ran his tongue across his lips, savoring the taste, certain he would never again consume the precious liquid. 

Then he kicked his Sire again, for good measure. "That's for being so fucking weak, you fat Irish bastard!" 

* * *

He fought to keep from remembering, but the memories refused to fade. Everyone he had ever cared about over the years-- they had all used and abused him, then abandoned him to deal with the aftermath. 

But this time he had managed to leave before the damage could be done. _That was good, right? Then why does it still hurt?_

Having lost his will to fight, he slipped out the back, grabbing a bottle on his way out. He climbed back into his car and began to drink, desperately seeking an escape from the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. 

* * *

By the time he had recovered from Spike's blow, there was no chance of catching up with the blond. He cursed himself for caring. He had always had a soft spot for Spike. It was those damned eyes of his; they had always meant trouble for Angelus, and Angel secretly feared that he was no different. 

* * *

What had possessed the great poof to turn him anyway? Oh, right, just another one of Angelus' sick games. He always got the last laugh, the wanker… 

* * *

What was it that he had seen in Spike, anyway? What was worth preserving for an eternity? 

* * *

**London, 1880 **

When Angelus had first come upon his Childe and her latest toy, he was irked. He was growing tired of Drusilla's tendencies to wander off whenever the pixies or the moon or other equally strange things told her to. Not that he didn't find it charming, but there were worse things than vampires lurking about London's alleys, and he would be unable to do much if his Childe ran afoul of them while wandering alone. 

She had found a young, spoiled, society brat, judging by his clothes and hair. Sighing in disgust, he only hoped that she would finish her game on the spot, instead of insisting on dragging the boy home, as she was often prone to do. He impatiently watched them converse, and silently rejoiced when she finally got around to biting her prey. 

She was taking too long to drain the boy, and Angelus contemplated demanding a taste so as to speed up the game. There were better places to feed than this, and sunrise was only a few hours away. He stepped forward to make his demand, but it died on his lips as the young man Drusilla was draining lifted his head in a slow, sensuous movement, the moonlight illuminating his features. He made a small whimper of pleasure, and Angelus felt himself being pulled on a downward spiral of desire. 

The hair was unfortunate, but the face it framed... Ivory skin that had most likely achieved its hue due to long days spent indoors, sculpted cheekbones that spoke of exquisitely carved marble statues, and eyes... Ocean blue depths that were darkened with desire, open and unseeing, he was so lost in passion. His lips were slightly parted, his full lower lip begging to be nibbled on. Angelus could smell the lust pouring off him in waves, and he licked his lips in anticipation of what the young man would taste like. Innocent and sweet, sunshine and other things long forgotten. He longed to break this boy, make him scream. He would give him pain, and teach him to love it. 

But he would never have the time; Drusilla was down to the last few drops of the boy's blood, her game at its end. But instead of finishing him off, and to Angelus' surprise, she tore open her wrist and offered it to the boy, and he drank eagerly. But she pulled away too soon, leaving him needy and confused. Crying out in need of the blood that would complete him, he reached out for her blindly, searching for the one who would give him the new life that he had been promised. But Drusilla stepped back, frightened, not understanding what her dear boy was after. 

If Angelus had been thinking clearly at the time, he would have chosen the obvious solution; to order his Childe to once again open her wrist and finish what she started, or to stake the would-be fledgling and end his suffering. But all he could think about was those blue eyes and chiseled cheekbones. He found himself kneeling next to the young man, cradling him in his arms. He brought his own wrist to his mouth, ripping it open and sharing the powerful fluid that came forth. 

The boy drank eagerly, and Angelus grew hard at the sensation of those full lips pulling and sucking, greedily drinking his blood. With a moan and a sigh, the young man finished consuming the blood that would end his human existence, and he fell into a deathlike sleep. 


	4. Chapter 3, Part 2

What Next - Chapter 3, Part 2

A/N: For anyone who hasn't noticed thus far, this contains **slash**. Meaning in this chapter Spike and Angel _will have sex_. If that bothers you, I suggest you stop reading. Also, this is _not happy sex. So please, no flames because this isn't a fluffy chapter. If you want the NC-17 version of this chapter, it's posted on my site. Also, this chap contains cruelty to puppies, but it is relevant, not gratuitous._

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**London****, 1880**

Angelus had never been much for tradition; he left all that to his Sire, who was thankfully in Paris at the time. He didn't bury William; instead he had taken the boy back to the house where he and Drusilla were staying. Laying William down in the master bedroom, he had ordered minions to clean and dress the body. As he oversaw the washing of his new Childe, Drusilla whined about having her new toy taken away so soon. 

"Daddy's taken my pet away… We hadn't finished our little game, William and I. My pet wants to play more, look how his eyes beg for it…" She began to hum softly, rocking back and forth.

"His eyes are closed, Dru," Angelus sighed and had one of his rare moments when he wished he hadn't driven her mad. "You didn't finish what you started, Childe. You would have killed the boy if I hadn't been there to feed him," Angelus reminded her. "You can have your precious William when I'm done with him." 

"But daddy isn't careful, he breaks all my toys," she pouted, sticking her bottom lip out. 

"You shouldn't pick toys that break so easily then, Drusilla." He smiled coldly and swept past her, heading upstairs, to William. 

He nearly gasped aloud at the sight before him. Even in death, William was still beautiful, the peaceful expression on his face making him look even younger than the twenty-five years Angelus had estimated him to be. His skin was soft and smooth; unblemished from years of easy living. It would stay that way forever now, preserved like a memory. 

Angelus wondered how that skin would feel against his, how it would taste... But there would be time for that later, when his Childe rose. He made the necessary preparations; food was sent for, and minions were ordered to retire for the day and to make themselves scarce the following night. 

He climbed into bed next to his Childe, softly stroking the dirty blond locks of the other man's hair, caressing his cold, dead skin one last time before sleep claimed him. _So very beautiful…_

As sunset approached, he rose to find a chair, placing it next to the bed so that he could see his Childe as he rose for the first time.

He watched as the man before him slowly woke, and he caught a glimpse of blue peeking out from beneath smoky lashes. Disoriented at first, William shrank back into the bed, eyes opening wide in confusion. Blue gave way to gold soon enough, and ridges formed as his true face was brought forth. Snarling, he struggled to rise; he desperately needed to feed. 

Angelus reached for the food he had brought up earlier; a young girl of about sixteen. He presented her to William, who promptly ripped and tore at the girl's neck, causing her to scream out in pain and fear. He hungrily sucked down the blood that poured forth from the wound, his demon growling in pleasure at the taste. _So this was what innocence tasted like..._

But Angelus didn't let him finish. When the barest edge had been taken off of his hunger, the Sire had suddenly ripped the girl away from his Childe, finishing her himself. 

William was outraged; her blood had been warm and rich, and he was still so very hungry... He lunged at the older vampire, intent on taking the girl back. Angelus knocked his Childe down with a single swipe of his hand, ordering him to stay there with a low warning growl. Finishing the girl, he tossed her carelessly aside, and then amusedly fingered one of the long scratches she had inflicted upon his chest in her struggle to free herself.

William was mesmerized by the small trickle of blood the scratch had produced; it screamed to be tasted. Before either vampire could register his actions, he found his mouth attached to the wound, nibbling and sucking, aching to get at every bit of that precious substance he could find. _Sire's blood. _

But he found himself knocked to the floor once again, with the dark man snarling above him. _Have I done something wrong?_ _Please, just one more taste…_

Angelus had secretly enjoyed the trespass, but if he were to make the boy a proper vampire, he could not tolerate such a gross breach of etiquette. He grabbed William by the neck and slammed him against the wall, drawing out a small whimper of pain from the fledgling. Growling, he admonished his newest Childe. "Never drink from me without my permission. Sire's blood is a gift, _not a privilege. Do you understand, Childe?" Demanding brown eyes bored into rebellious blue-gold ones. _

William understood, but he could never obey. One taste of that forbidden blood and he was forever addicted. He wanted, _needed_ more, and he _would_ get it. He tried to pry his Sire's fingers away from his throat, but Angelus' grip was far too strong. Frustrated, he dug his nails into his Sire's hand. 

With an angry roar, Angelus slammed his Childe against the wall once more, then quickly released him, letting him fall to the ground in an awkward heap. His newest Childe was turning out to be more fun than expected, which was unfortunate; he wanted the game to last longer. He was already hard, desperate to finish William's turning. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to suppress the urge to just fuck his Childe senseless. The first time would always be the best remembered, and he wanted to make an impression. 

He turned to grab a few things out of the chest on the far side of the room, but was suddenly tackled from behind by a very determined William. The fledgling quickly latched onto Angelus' neck and drank greedily, moaning softly in between mouthfuls of blood. _God, he was unstoppable…_ Angelus groaned softly, and none-too-gently shoved the little leech away from his neck. 

William snarled his displeasure and disappointment, and then gasped in surprise as Angelus grabbed him and threw him onto the bed. He keened in pleasure as Angelus began to tear at his Childe's clothing, tossing the ripped fabric aside. 

William's world finally snapped back into focus when his demon suddenly relinquished control amidst its pleasure, slipping back into the recesses of his mind; for the first time that night he was truly aware of who he was with and what this was all inevitably leading to. 

He panicked, and began thrashing in an attempt to escape, but this only further fueled Angelus' desire. _What...how... must get out of here... ungh._ He knew something was terribly wrong, but he couldn't think clearly. _The alley_...he remembered a beautiful woman, offering him... _this. But that didn't explain the dark man above him, or the metallic taste in his mouth… _Blood… I drank…blood… Her blood, his blood... _And it most certainly didn't explain why his body was responding to the other man's the way it was... He'd never experienced sensations like this before, and he was pretty sure that it wasn't supposed to happen with another man..._ But God help me, it feels so good, so right..._ No. It was __wrong, he was sure of it. He made a weak attempt to push Angelus away. _

Angelus was being anything but gentle, and William was ashamed that he had let loose a very unmanly yelp when the older man had scratched him hard enough to draw blood. But the moan that had escaped when Angelus lapped up the blood he had drawn, that was what finally broke him. Silent tears began to roll down his cheeks. He didn't understand any of this, didn't understand why he was so needy and repulsed at the same time, and how that disastrous incident with Cecily was ending here.  

Suddenly, he was flipped over so that he was lying on his face, with the dark man pawing at his back. The tears came faster; he knew what would come next. As much as his mother had tried to shelter him from the ways of the world, he had heard what some men did with each other for pleasure, that there were places in the less reputable parts of London... He had never imagined that he would experience anything of the sort firsthand. 

But as scared and as repulsed as he was by the idea, his body cried out for the other man's. He needed him, wanted him; it would somehow make him whole. So while his mind screamed out in confusion and fear, his body unconsciously moved against the other man's, searching, seeking the pleasure that was to come. _Pleasure? He doubted very much that there could be pleasure derived from this; if he correctly understood how this would work, it would be quite painful. _So where had that traitorous thought come from?_ _

As Angelus readied himself, he caught the scent of salt... The boy was crying. A wicked grin flashed across his face. _This was getting better by the minute_... The boy and his demon weren't fully integrated yet, and apparently he didn't cherish the thought of being with another man. 

 William was sobbing now, confused and hurting. There was a darkness inside him, growing; it begged to be hurt again and again, wanted what the dark man was offering. It burned for him. And it was eating William alive. He kicked and screamed, assaulted from all sides... and there was nowhere for him to run. 

Full-fledged terror was rolling off the boy in waves; he could taste it. And a darker flavor accompanied it..._desire_. The demon was taking hold; it was time to finish this. Without any further delay he shoved inside the boy, and began to pump in and out, his passage slicked with blood. After his initial shout of shock and pain, William grew eerily silent. Determined to get a response out of the boy, Angelus rode him harder, fingers digging into his Childe's hips, fingernails creating crescents of blood. 

He gave up, in the end. There was no escaping. The much older and larger man was determined to have his way, and William let him. He was distantly aware of the dark man trying to hurt him, pushing him to respond, but he just withdrew further inside himself. 

He was suddenly met with a flaming ball of fury that fought and kicked and rose to the surface of his mind. 

_You dare to ignore the attentions of our__Sire?_  A strange yet familiar voice in his head roared in anger.

_I don't know what a Sire is… I just want to go home, _William whimpered.

_He set us free, we were nothing before him! Now he pleasures us, and you hide? This may be the only night he pays us attention, and you ruin it! _The voice grew stronger, louder, so insistent…

_Wake up, William!_ He shuddered as the fire consumed him, and he was suddenly filled with the knowledge of the demon as they merged and became one. _Power_. He could feel it, coursing through his veins. 

Angelus felt the shift in the man below him, and knew that his Childe was complete. He pushed harder, faster, intent on his own completion. 

He finally understood why this coupling was so pleasurable, despite the pain. Pain _was_ pleasure, and he was in a considerable amount of both at the moment. 

He didn't care much for being shoved face-first into the bed, however… He decided to make things a bit more interactive. Experimentally, he shoved back the next time his Sire surged forward, and was immediately met with a gasp of surprise and pleasure. He repeated the action several times, reveling in the satisfied sounds he elicited from the older man. But he soon tired of this game; it was taking _forever_ for Angelus to get off, and while the experience wasn't nearly as bad as it had been a few minutes before, he was eager to end it. _Time to change the rules, then. _

Angelus grunted in surprise when he was suddenly knocked on his back, and he snarled in anger when his Childe slid off him. He cursed himself for being so careless, so caught up in passion as to allow his Childe to take him by surprise. 

William grinned cheekily at the dark expression on his Sire's face, and laughed out loud at how Angelus' face twisted when he placed himself back on his Sire, sitting down hard in one swift motion. Laughter quickly turned to gasps of pleasure as he rode his Sire… His hands reached out, desperate to grab and hold, and they finally settled on Angelus' shoulders, gripping and releasing with each downward stroke. 

Angelus was too shocked to move. He had never heard of anything like this happening during a turning; then again, it was unlikely that any master vampire would want it known that they had been overpowered by a Childe not even a day old. Granted, after the initial shock had worn off, he could've flipped William back over, giving him a painful lesson in showing the proper respect for his Sire…but he was enjoying his Childe's attentions far too much. For someone who had died an innocent, William was surprisingly talented. 

It ended all too soon. Angelus shouted his release, then he was pushing William off, wiping himself clean with the edge of the sheet. Silently he stood, pulling on his trousers, leaving without a backward glance. William lay deathly still, in a growing pool of blood, still painfully hard. 

That was the first time Angelus had left him without a word, and it was far from being the last. _______________________________________________________________________

Sunrise was only an hour and a half away, and he still had no idea as to what he was going to do. Not to mention the fact that he had run out of booze twenty minutes ago. He cursed one of the few disadvantages of being a vampire; high metabolism. He was already starting to sober up, and his head hurt like a bitch. Not to mention all his other parts that had been injured in the bar fight earlier. 

The pain he could handle, but the serious thoughts that came with the clearing of his head were overwhelming. He had no life. He had a broken down car, the clothes on his back, and very little cash left. No close friends, no job, no place to stay. _Unless I decide __to take the great poof up on his offer…___

Groaning out loud, he realized that his decision had already been made. He hated to admit it, but he needed to be a part of something bigger than himself, not to mention a place to stay, and joining Angel's gang of do-gooders was the best way to go about it. _So, back to the Hyperion it is, then. _

He twisted around in his seat, searching for his car keys, having to sift through an endless sea of empty cans and bottles. _With a quick stop by the liquor store first… _

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      He'd ended up getting pissed again. At first he had told himself that he was just drinking to alleviate the hangover, but he found himself seeking overall numbness again. It hurt to feel. So he'd just stop feeling for a while.

But the numbness refused to come, leaving him to face the emotions building inside him. Stupid, sodding soul. It made everything all wrong, it made_him wrong, he wanted it out…_

_No, not really, just more typical Spike bullshit. He winced at the thought; it sounded exactly like something his Sire might say. Full circle…always, back to Angel…and oh, how he hated it. The obsession he had harbored for his Sire when he was first turned… _

But he had never been good enough for Angelus. Angrily, he slammed a bottle against the dash, shattering it. How could he have been so stupid? He blamed it on youth, but it didn't deaden the pain. A plan began to form in his mind. He was older, wiser, _stronger_ now. He'd show that wanker a thing or two.

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He'd forgotten how cruel he had been to Spike as Angelus; he had placed those memories in the mental box labeled 'Angelus - Do Not Open'. William had been an obsession of his, he wanted to torture the boy till he broke, and then put him back together, forming his Childe into his own image.

William had been like a little lost puppy when he was first turned, happy and oh-so-eager to please. Angelus liked puppies. Well, nailing them to walls at any rate. He just adored the way they squealed when the nails first pierced their skin, the yelps they gave as they tried to wriggle their way free, and the soft whines of helplessness they made as they gave up all hopes of escape.

 Angelus couldn't wait to discover all the sounds he could force from his new Childe.

William had done his best to please his Sire, eager to experience more of what had been given to him that first night. But Angelus had pointedly ignored his newest Childe. He wanted William to beg for it, to come crawling to his Sire, desperate with need… 

It had taken three weeks. Three weeks and William was slowly going mad. He became so distracted he often forgot to feed. He was slowly wasting away, his already slim figure becoming skeletal, his skin turning paper-thin, transparent. He would stare at his Sire for hours, silent and longing for attention. 

When he finally broke down he had quietly asked to feel his Sire inside him once again, embarrassment written all over his face. But Angelus ignored him. William repeated his need for his Sire, eyes begging. Angelus slowly met his gaze, and his Childe shuddered under his scrutiny, but steeled himself and asked a third time. His Sire remained eerily silent, a faint look of disdain on his face, almost as if he had just discovered he'd stepped in something unpleasant.

William begged, he pleaded, he grabbed at the older man's clothes, saying he would do anything, _anything_ at all, if only his Sire would fill him one last time. Angelus simply laughed at the boy, ripping his already tattered heart to shreds. Then, deciding he had played long enough, he had taken the boy again and again, roughly, violently, intent on tearing his Childe in two. He rode on a river of blood and his Childe's pained screams; the power of the taking coursed through him like a drug. He was becoming as addicted as his Childe; he craved the sense of power that came from his complete and utter control over William. 

But there was something else there as well that drew him to the fledgling… The eyes that begged him to stop while pleading for more… A look of pain a century old. It was intoxicating.

It had been a sick and twisted relationship, and Angel was more than surprised that Spike had survived it. _But then again, that's what made him so special, wasn't it?_ Angelus had admired the boy's secret strength and his uncanny ability to adapt… It made the prospect of breaking the boy especially sweet.

Angel felt sick. He wanted to make things right, he wanted to make amends with Spike. _But how?__ He didn't think an "I'm sorry I fucked with your mind to the point that you began to thank me for abusing you daily" would cut it._


End file.
